I keep on getting un-manned by my wifes favorite pickle jars.

I feel like the softest git alive, defeated every few weeks by a new jar of pickles.

I blame it on the machines, as they screw the tops on. Maybe when they take over the world they can screw the tops on as tight as they want, but until that day, can you unloosen them a bit.

Every negative has a positive, my old Dad used to say, so at least I don't have to give her a kiss with her reeking on pickles.

rob